


Tears of The Sun

by j_gabrielle



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: Based on a prompt where Frodo is Thorin and Bilbo's son and no one knows.[Originally posted between December 2012 and March 2013]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was [originally posted here](https://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=591294#t591294) on The Hobbit Kink Meme waaaayy back in the day when I was super active in the kink memes there. It has been haunting me for ages since I deleted and purged my LJ account, that I did not crosspost them over here, even if I said I would, for archival purposes. So here we are. It has been interesting to read and see how my writing has changed, or not, and grown in the 7 years since I posted this fic. It has been a journey and I want to thank everyone who has been a part of it.
> 
> To everyone who knew me from LJ back then, if you see something of mine that I may have missed and that you'd like to see it on AO3, hit me up and let me know.
> 
> Completely unedited (warts and all) and unbetaed. I do not have any intentions of continuing this fic in any way shape or form x

Bilbo stared at the stern line of Thorin's back, transfixed. The king's chain mail had been carefully hung, the furs and leathers draped over the chest at the food of the bed. Outside in the darkness of the plains, bloomed the bright heat of the funeral pyres and the songs of mourning filled the air like a heavy blanket of despair.  
  
Thorin had been crowned King today. It should've been an occasion of celebration, but the halls of Erebor were filled with the cries of the living calling the dead and gone. Bilbo looked over to the velvet pillow on chest of drawers, and the crown it cradled.  
  
Bilbo curled a hand over his belly. There is already a swell there, barely noticeable and if anyone were to look, would've thought that he'd merely had a little too much fine food. But Bilbo knew that it wasn't so.  
  
A child. One that was half a Hobbit and half a Dwarf. A child growing in him. The words, 'I am with child' sit heavy upon his lips ready to tumble out to meet its' intended recipient.  
  
"Leave." The words spoken in a whisper, but to Bilbo they were as clear as bells on a still morning. "Go home to your Shire. Leave this place and never come back. I will have a mare prepared for you with supplies and provisions, and your promised share of the treasure." Thorin paused, and it is then that Bilbo notices the way his hands are clasped behind his back. "Say your goodbyes. You have until first light."  
  
"I-I don't understand..." Bilbo stammered, frowning. "Why..."  
  
Thorin snapped, rushed towards him and gripped his wrist tight. "_Why_? You took the Arkenstone, gave it to my enemies for leverage over me and you have the nerve to ask me _why_?" Thorin hissed, eyes bright with ill disguised fury and murder.  
  
He flung the Hobbit onto the soft fur rug in front of the fireplace, looming over him. "You have betrayed me. You have betrayed all of us."  
  
Bilbo felt his own anger bubble over, white hot rage taking over him. Nimbly, he got to his feet. "Betrayed you? You're a fool, Thorin Oakenshield! A hateful, fool taken over by revenge and your own blind prejudices!" Bilbo cried, "I was trying to _save_ you! All of you! They would've had slaughtered you all!"

"Are those the words, the lies you'll tell yourself when you sing yourself to bed tonight?" He sneered, advancing in Bilbo's direction, causing the Halfling to stumble backwards. "You can tell yourself whatever you'd like, but do so away from here." Bilbo looked into the eyes of the dwarf that held his heart, for the first time truly fearful of him. Thorin reeled for a moment, his anger faltering for a moment before flickering into frustration.  
  
"Please..."  
  
Thorin turned to leave when Bilbo's soft voice halted him in his steps.  
  
"Did you ever love me?" The Hobbit asked, averting his eyes. He worried the front of his shirt, ignoring the way Thorin's hands were fisted tight against his side. "Did you ever love me, or was that a lie you told for a warmer bed? Were they merely words for me to spread my legs wider?"  
  
Thorin had a hand on the door, ready to push and leave. Had Bilbo looked up just then, he would've seen the small aborted movements towards him, the way Thorin's face crumpled in sadness.  
  
"If I had any love for you, it is now gone. I cannot look at you and not remember of what you have done." Is what he heard. "I wish you a safe trip, Bilbo Baggins. May we never meet again."  
  
Bilbo waited until the sounds of footsteps disappear, and lets the voices of the mourners hide his sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWENTY FIVE YEARS LATER**  
  
"Frodo!" Bilbo called, marching out to the garden, hot on the heels of a young boy. "Frodo Baggins, you come back here, with Sting, _right this instance_!"  
  
The bright flash of Sting flickered swiftly across the air, a soft whisper before embedding itself in the trunk of the tree. Frodo laughed, thrusting his sword against the bark. Bilbo stormed up next to him, snatching the sword away.  
  
Frodo frowned, blue eyes defiant as he stared up to Bilbo. "Papa, it was just a bit of fun." He stated petulantly. "I wasn't going to hurt anyone with it."  
  
Bilbo sighed, sheathing his sword. "I know, my boy. I know. I can't help but worry about you and every little thing you do. Sting is precious to me, but you are more so and I'd rather not have to worry about you and sharp objects in the same sentence together." He smiled softly, pulling his son to him in a hug. "I promise you that I will teach you everything I know about swordplay when you are older."  
  
"You promise?" Frodo grinned.  
  
"I do." Bilbo answered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "Now run along! You're supposed to meet Sam, remember?" He could not help the laughter bubbling out as his son panicked, breaking out his embrace and running out the gate.   
  
He stood there, watching his son run up the road until he disappeared around the bend. Slowly, he turned and made his way back into his home. Frodo was taller than most Hobbits his age, fairer too. There was something otherworldly about him that caused most of the children his age to avoid him, their parents warning their children of him. It wasn't fair, and definitely uncalled for, but Bilbo understood why. Hobbits were wary folk, and they never quite got over their shock of seeing Bilbo ride into the Shire with a babe strapped to his back.   
  
And his eyes... Bilbo swallowed back on the lump at his throat. He had his father's eyes.

The Hobbit ran his hand over the leather strap. Frodo was seven years away from his coming of age and with each passing day, Bilbo was having a harder time explaining away the absence of his father. Frodo was a naturally inquisitive child, which meant that it was a constant headache trying to keep up with his son and his mind. But looking back on those days he had spent watching his child grow, Bilbo knew he would not have had traded those memories for anything in the world.  
  
He lifted the cover of the chest by his writing desk, placing Sting into it reverently.   
  
Bag End was littered with stacks of books and papers, cutlery and assortments. Bilbo sighed, picking up one of Frodo's books and slipping it back onto the shelves. Absently, his hand brushed over a carved wooden box. Curious, he opens it only to find a sapphire brooch resting in a bed of velvet.  
  
_Take it_  
  
"Thorin..." Bilbo gasped, fingers finding purchase on the intricate piece of workmanship. He felt a sob clawing itself out of him. The sapphire brooch given to him on their first night back in the halls of Erebor. Thorin had given it to him after they'd made love together by the fireplace and were on the throes of sleep.  
  
Bilbo closed his eyes, letting the memory of Thorin take over his senses; the warmth of his skin, the smell of smoke and metal, the way he looked at Bilbo like he was the most beautiful thing in the world. Something to be treasured. Bilbo smiled a little, remembering the better times when Thorin--  
  
He dropped the brooch back into the box, snapping its' lid shut. "No good thinking about things that should be buried and dead." He breathed, hugging himself.  
  
A knock on his door sounded like thunder in the quiet of his Hobbit Hole. Frowning, Bilbo shook himself of the cobwebs in his mind. 


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the persons he'd expected to find on his doorstep, Balin was never one of them.  
  
"Master Baggins!" The dwarf lord exclaimed in happiness, grabbing him into a hearty back thumping hug. "I am _very_ glad to find you healthy and hale!"  
  
Bilbo coughed, straightening himself and smiled the best he could while wheezing away. "'Tis good to see you too, Master Balin."  
  
Balin had looked as if no time has passed at all; snowy white hair and beard, with a happy twinkle in his eyes. Bilbo was happy to see him, but at the same time, he was warily curious. He invited the dwarf into his house, silently taking note of the way he was looking around the house without being too obvious about it.  
  
He led Balin into the parlor, putting a kettle over the fire. "How... How is everyone?" He asked, looking for a topic that was safe to be discussed. "Are they well?"  
  
"They're fine. They miss you though." Balin admits softly, the words between the lines remained unspoke, but still Bilbo blushed under his knowing eyes.   
  
"If you don't mind me asking, what business has brought you to these parts?" Bilbo rised, turning his face away, his body towards the counter top and making work off slicing the cake he'd baked for supper that night. "Not that... It's any of my concern, of course. It's just--"  
  
"Master Baggins," Balin's voice was solemn, interrupting him gently. Bilbo heard the scraping of the chair against the floor, and felt Balin's presence behind him. "I owe you an apology. All of us did and we still so. We did not know of what Thorin had done until it was too late and you were already a full days' ride from us. Had we'd known, we would have done anything to stop him. Please forgive us cowards for not having the strength to stand up for you, when you would have done so without a thought to the matter."  
  
Bilbo shook his head. He sat down at the table, gathered his thoughts, placing his hands with his palms facing upwards. "It was my punishment. I had to atone for my transgressions against him." He whispered, "I betrayed him. Balin, I should've found a different way, found a different solution." He stared out the window at the clouds. "Giving the Arkenstone away was never the answer and I should've been wise enough to see that."   
  
Bilbo looked up at Balin, voice wavering, the words he'd buried deep in the shadows of his heart and mind coming forth into the light. "I miss him, Balin. More than I could say, and far more than I could ever show. There isn't a day that has gone by that I had not longed to be with him again, that I do not think of him." He confesses, feeling the bottle up misery finally break free.

The Hobbit was immediately embarassed. Stammering, "I am sorry... That was rude of me to burden you with problems not your own." Bilbo rose quickly.  
  
Balin said nothing, choosing to gaze at his old friend. "He misses you too. He never says it, and most certainly hides it well, but he misses you." He pauses, leaning forward. "There... Has been talks in recent days of marriage."  
  
Bilbo's head snapped up at that, heart suddenly twisted painfully in his chest. All the air in his lung seemed to have vanished in that instant. "I hope... I wish him well, then." He laughs a little hysterically, looking away. "Whoever he marries will be a fine lady indeed."  
  
"Master Baggins..."  
  
"Papa! Papa!" Frodo's voice came behind the loud crash of the front door opening. With each approaching footstep, bilbo could feel his world slowly coming undone. "Papa, look what..."  
  
Frodo came to a halt at the doorway, surprised at the sight of their guest. "Hello." He greeted shyly, hurrying to his father's side. "Who are you?"   
  
"Frodo!" Bilbo chastised weakly, turning pleading eyes on Balin. He shook his head minutely, trying to communicate with the dwarf without speaking a word.   
  
"I am an old friend of your father." Balin smiled, rising to hold out a hand to the young Hobbit lad. "Pleased to meet you...?"  
  
"Frodo! Frodo Baggins, sir!" Muddy hand took clean larger one in his, shaking it vigorously. Bilbo could hear all the unasked questions in his son's mind rearing to leap forth.  
  
"Go clean up. You're tracking mud everywhere. I'll prepare some tea for you." Bilbo said quickly, nudging his son in the direction of the baths. Frodo frowned, resisting. "Go." Bilbo hissed desperately.  
  
Disapproval and defiance followed his son as the lad stomped his feet, making his displeasure known as he went in the direction of the bath. "I apologise for his behavior. Forgive him..."  
  
"How old is he?" Balin queried, voice low.  
  
Bilbo turned, walking toward the bookshelf, not waiting to see it the dwarf was following. He picked the little box off, finger running over the lid. "Master Balin... Please ask the question you wanted an answer to. Do not hide it behind diversions."  
  
The silence in Bag End rang loud, broken only by the sounds of Frodo's washing.   
  
"Is he Thorin's son?"


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo did not answer immediately, turning his eyes to the sound of his son singing out of tune. "He is." He confessed, hand coming to rest on his belly. "But he knows not of his lineage, of his father. And I would rather it be that way." He turned, holding out the object in his hand.  
  
"He is the son of a King! Should he not be able to lift his head and call himself a prince? It is his birthright!" Balin demanded, "He the heir to the House of Durin--"  
  
"He is heir to no one!" Bilbo countered angrily. "The son of a father that does not know he exists? The child born of a being he never wants to see again? Thorin made it _clear_ to me that he does not love me, and probably never had! If you were to tell him..." The words felt like vices around his neck. "If you were to tell him, he would not deny his paternity. Thorin is the noblest person I've ever known. He won't deny it, but he would feel compelled to acknowledge Frodo." Bilbo bit down on his lip. "You spoke of him seeking marriage."  
  
Balin nodded, slumping down into the nearby armchair. "The Council means to match him with a suitable bride by the end of autumn." The old dwarf closed his eyes, feeling his age catch up to him in his bones. What a conundrum!  
  
"Thorin deserves a good mate. Someone he could trust, and love completely without reserve. He needs someone who will not complicate things for him." Bilbo whispered, kneeling down in front of the dwarf. "I am not such a person. And neither is Frodo." He covered the dwarf's hand holding the box with his own, gently speaking, "I have made a life for my son and I. We are... Happy here in the Shire. With each and every passing day I see more and more of Thorin in him, and soon Frodo will learn of his father and all the great deeds he has done. He is almost at his majority now, and I can't and won't keep it from him for much longer. All I ask of you is that you speak of this visit and what you have learnt here to no one."  
  
The shadows of the grate casted a strange light over the old dwarf's face. "When Thorin sent me out to play diplomat for him, I had not expected to pass the Shire. I had dreamt of learning the things I have had learnt even less so." He patted the Hobbit's hand, sighing. "It seems that Mahal works in many mysterious ways. I had hoped to meet Thorin's son, to see him grow as I had his father." He blinked, seemingly gathering himself. "I will not tell my King of this visit and your secret."  
  
Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief, breathing easier. "Thank you, Master Balin."  
  
"But it comes with a condition."  
  
Balin stood, towering over the Hobbit. "Let me give him a gift."

Frodo found him in the garden long after Balin left. He sat on his weathered bench, the wisps of smoke from his pipe curling like iridescent vines around him.   
  
"Papa?" The boy asked, sliding into the space next to him. After one too many health scares in Frodo's infancy, the pipe had gone into storage. Until then, the young Hobbit could count in one hand then amount of times he'd seen his father smoke it. "Papa, is everything alright?"  
  
Bilbo kept his eyes on the distant horizon, watching the sunset. He turned to his son, taking one of his hands in his. "I am fine, my child. Just... Thinking." He patted him absently, smiling.  
  
Frodo snuggled closer, burrowing his head onto Bilbo's shoulder. "You're smoking again."  
  
"It seems I am."  
  
"Can I ask why?"  
  
Bilbo turns his eyes to him, face solemn and sad. Frodo felt a shiver spike lightening fast up his spine. He knew this look; it was one that always foreshadowed long days of silence and unhappiness, of tears that his father tried to hide, longing stares towards the Western horizon and a place Frodo cannot see. When he was younger, it used to scare him whenever he found Bilbo lying on top of the covers unresponsive to any and every prodding or request. In recent years, these spells have been becoming far and few in between. Frodo knew that his father had been getting better.  
  
"Was it the visitor? Did he upset you?" Frodo asked, pressing on. "Or was it me? Did _I_ upset you?"  
  
Immediately, Bilbo gathered his son into his arms. "No, my boy. It was not. I am fine." He pulled back, grinning and cupping his cheeks. "Truly."  
  
They sat there huddled in each others' embrace, watching the dying light of day fade until the skies darkened and the twinkle of stars could be seen. Frodo could not help but feel a sense of loss that he could not place. As if with the setting sun, something in their lives was about to change. That tomorrow would herald a difference that Frodo was not entirely sure he would like.  
  
"Here. Master Balin left it for you." Bilbo handed him a simple box with no inscription. "'Tis yours lad. Open it."  
  
Inside the box revealed a simple pendant on a bright silver chain that seemed to glow almost. Frodo picked it up, running his fingers over the surface of the cool strange metal. On the face of the pendant was the engraving of a hammer and an anvil, a crown and seven stars "What is it?" He muttered, turning it over.  
  
The air around them seemed to have chilled. Bilbo rose, stuffing his pipe into his pocket. "Papa?" Frodo looked up, rising as he had.  
  
A strange look passed over the face of his father as he spoke, "That is Durin's Emblem. The crest of the great Dwarven House of Durin and their King..." He paused, reaching out to touch it before snatching his hand away. "Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain, King Under The Mountain. Lord of Erebor." The words whispered softly. Bilbo looked into his son's eyes, lips parting to speak. But the older Hobbit turned his face away, shuffling back into their home instead.  
  
Frodo watched his father's retreating back, the necklace a weight in the palm of his hand, wondering what was that all about.


	5. Side Story 1

"Thorin, come back here." Bilbo protested the loss of body warmth, stretching himself languidly, reaching out for him. "Thorin..."  
  
The Prince chuckled fondly, rummaging through his pack briefly before laying back down beside his Hobbit. He curled his body around him; both for protection and heat. Bilbo had always put up a front that he did not enjoy the feel of Thorin's weight like a shield, or the way his size seemed to envelope him. But Thorin knew that he really (secretly and never spoken) loved the feel of their naked bodies pressed close together.  
  
And it also made for some easy access to very fabulous (if very muted) morning sex.  
  
"Here." Thorin whispered, brushing a kiss over his brow. He dangled an exquisitely silver steel necklace with a delicately shaped pendant over the space between their faces. "This was my mother's. It was given to her by my grandfather, and she had worn this on her wedding day. See how it shines in the moonlight?" He held it up, "Made of Mithril, it is. Mined from the mines of Khazad-dûm itself. This pendant was forged by my ancestor for his beloved as a gift, and it has remained in my family for many generations."   
  
"The seven stars over the crown, the hammer and anvil. Durin's Emblem." He muttered distractedly, thumbing its' face. "It has seen the birth of many heirs to the house of Durin, the death of many just as much. My mother gave it to me before she died. It is the last thing I have of hers." He explained wistfully, twisting his hand until the pendant was sung between his forefinger and thumb. Thorin traced a line with the cool pendant from Bilbo's forehead, down his adorable nose, lingering on lips that he could never get enough of. "I want you to have it. "Will you... Will you keep it safe for me?" He asked, and if Bilbo did not know any better, he would have said that the Prince sounded almost... Nervous.

Hobbits did not, as a general rule, give out precious heirlooms to people who weren't their intended or their immediate family members. Bilbo liked to think he is being given this because Thorin truly cared (or even, in his most private moments, perhaps _loved_him) but Bilbo was not a simpering lass clinging on to every word falling from the lips of their first sweethearts.  
  
He knew his place.  
  
Bilbo took the hand in front of him and pressed a soft kiss to the pendant, looking up from under hooded eyes. "You know I would do anything for you." He replied simply, flushing with pleasure at look of happiness on Thorin's face. "I will keep it safe for you. Until the day you ask of it back from me, I will treasure it and protect it."  
  
Thorin brushed away the curls that fell across his eyes. "Then I am glad." He nudged the Hobbit to a seated position, slipping the necklace over his head until the pendant rested on the center of his breast. "For there could've been no finer guardian for something so precious to me." He whispered solemnly. Blue eyes held his own. Thorin lifted a hand to cup the soft skin of Bilbo's cheek and in that moment, Bilbo could have sworn that the Dwarf was about to speak when the moment passed and he simply looked fond and sleepy.  
  
"Come. Come and lie next to me. The moon is high and we have a full day's ride tomorrow."   
  
Bilbo wrinkled his nose, "And I shall be wretchedly sore from all we have done tonight! How can I ride properly? All the others will know!" He moaned.  
  
Thorin had had not the heart to tell him that the others probably knew long ago. Instead he merely pulled the slighter creature close to him, wrapping strong arms around Bilbo. "You could ride with me, if you wish? Or I could just glare them into submission."  
  
He felt the tremors of laughter shaking the body next to him. "As if you could." Bilbo huffed, "Thank you all the same." His lips quirked shyly.  
  
Thorin did not reply; merely gathered their covers over their bodies and huddled closer to his Bilbo.


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the deep throbs at the back of his head. The lady dwarf (this was the thirteenth and he'd long since gave up learning their names by the sixth) had just left the dining hall, apparently satisfied in her presumptions that he will ask for her hand in marriage before the season is out. Something he had done well to encourage.  
  
"Are you alright, my lord?" Balin's asked, voice soft. "Would you like me to--"  
  
"I'm fine." He waved his concerns away, wincing at the brightness of the roaring fireplace. Thorin rose, making his way to his chambers. Balin followed closely behind.   
  
As they had turned a corner, the King caught a glimpse of Ori carrying a large bulging sack, walking towards the direction of the main gates. "Ori!" He called, noting the sudden exasperation and panic that filled the expressions of the silver-haired dwarf next to him and the younger one in front. Ori audibly gulped, eyes darting wildly, looking vaguely like a rabbit staring into the eyes of its' doom.  
  
"Y-Y-Your Highness!" He squeaked.   
  
"Peace, my friend." Thorin grinned, clapping his shoulder. It was never a surprise to him that Ori would be the only one out of their original Company that would still be terrified of him. "What have you got there?"  
  
Ori's eyes darted quickly to Balin, but Thorin could not turn to see the other dwarf's reaction without first giving himself away. "N-nothing, my lord. Just some... Toys. For children!"

Thorin narrowed his eyes. "Toys. For children." He repeated slowly. "You are aware that the only ones who could be counted as younglings have no use for toys? Perhaps swords and battle axes may be of more use to them." He prodded, suspicion taking root. Some of his old Company have been acting strange as of late, and he was rather determined to find out why.  
  
Ori bowed deep and low, backing away subtly. "Yes, my lord!" Balin scoffed, but said nothing. Ori bowed once more before hurrying down the corridor to Bifur's quarters.  
  
Thorin stood there for a little while, watching his rapidly disappearing back with the bulk of the sack. "Walk with me." He said, turning towards the stone stairs leading to the battlements. The ache in his head gave a long deep throb.  
  
The years of Smaug's occupation showed in the landscape; charred ground like deep battle scars that will never heal properly, ugly blackened stumps of trees that dotted the landscape, the evidence of war etched into every corner his eye could see. It was a far cry from the scenery he had remembered as a young prince growing up in these very halls and fields they now attempted to repopulate.   
  
It was not the same. None of it was.  
  
"Balin, do you know anything of this?" He queried trying to keep the edge in his voice blunt. There was no point running circles around Balin for he would not be fooled by something like a play of words. "My most loyal dwarfs are apparently hiding secrets from me. Should I be worried? Could it be treason?" He gripped the stone edges hard, digging his fingers deep.  
  
Balin, to his credit, did not immediately respond. Instead, his cousin came up to stand next to him, watching the horizon with all-knowing eyes.  
  
"You have no cause to worry, my lord." He responded, finally looking at his King. "They're all loyal to the crown and to you."  
  
"Then am I correct in assuming that you have knowledge of what it is _exactly_ that they are up to?"  
  
There was a long pause in which the noon day bell sounded its' low call. "Thorin," The older dwarf spoke, eyes gentle and sad. He had remembered such a look once. A lifetime ago when his heart was still unbroken and hope was tangible in his grasp. "Thorin, trust me when I tell you that the secret we keep is only for your own good and at the behest of another who loves you."  
  
Thorin was immediately intrigued. "Loves me?" He frowns. Love? Love was an emotion he'd purged from himself.  
  
"Aye laddie. Love. If you would only let yourself believe it." He smiled, eyes crinkling into half moons. "The others know of it, but do not try asking them--not even Fili or Kili, for they will not tell. You may be our King and you have our allegiance, but heed this; do not ask and do not seek for answers you would not wish to know." Balin was hardly ever this informal anymore, and in truth, Thorin missed the days where they were just... Them. Before reclaiming Erebor, before a throne and a crown, and people who looked up to him for guidance and leadership. Before the difference in statuses.  
  
Thorin's cold blue eyes searched Balin's for any trace of lies. "Do you promise me that this secret is not one that would bring harm to Erebor?"  
  
Balin blinked rapidly, seemingly taken aback at his words. "Aye."  
  
"Then your word is good enough for me." Thorin pushed himself off the battlement wall, turning on his heel and marching inside.  
  
The bell continued to sound, and as the light of the sun began to disappear, Thorin could hear the faint song of a Thrush bird.


	7. Side Story 2

When he was a boy, Thorin used to dream of the chance to join his father and grandfather on the fields of battle. To bring glory to the House of Durin. He only ever wanted to make them proud and prove himself worthy of the throne he stood to inherit.  
  
But when Smaug came...  
  
In those early days of their diaspora, Thorin could dream of nothing but dragon's fire, the dying cries of his people, and the succulent smell of roasting meat. He would relive the horrors of that black day over and over and over again in both his dreams and waking moments.  
  
And then he marched into the Battle of Azanulbizar.  
  
He still has dreams from that.  
  
Those dreams became few and in between after Kili's 24th summer, and for that, he thanked Mahal. Dwarves were... are a race of proud, warrior folk. Weakness was never to be tolerated. In the years that followed, he dreamt very little and when he did, it was of the sounds of a home lost and the faces of people he will never see again.  
  
When he met Bilbo Baggins in his little Hobbit Hole for the first time, the only thought that slipped into his mind was, 'What has that doddering old wizard gotten us into?' But as they had journeyed together and he'd gotten more than just glimpses of the Halfling's true mettle, something flickered low in his chest. Something that drew him closer to the Hobbit and yet further, and further away at the same time.  
  
Somewhere along the line, after Bilbo had stood between him and the Pale Orc, that something flickered and flamed into something brighter and more.  
  
And then Thorin began dreaming of Bilbo.

Those first dreams were innocent and chaste; just the two of them on a field, the Halfling resting against his shoulder, eyes close and a rosy blush on his cheeks, or a dream of Bilbo's musical laughter and brilliant smile. But after that one time he stumbled on the Hobbit washing, Thorin found he could never look at Bilbo in those waking moments without remembering dreams of his face betwixt in an expression of exquisite pleasure and ecstasy, split impossibly open riding his cock, surrounded by all the treasures of Erebor, sitting on the throne of his forebears.   
  
(in those dreams he paints stark purple on pale skin and marks him red, spilling in him slick and white, rubbing calloused hands over pert pink nipples, cock remaining hard even though he has just spent himself)  
  
He spoke of those dreams to no one.  
  
Thorin thinks the Hobbit who held his heart is more often than not a walking contradiction of himself. Bilbo had came up to him one night as he took the first watch, demanding to know what is wrong. At first, Thorin had thought of keeping him from the truth. After all, what could a dwarf-king with no kingdom, no money and no security could offer as a suitor?  
  
But then Bilbo had surged forth, pressing his lips desperately against his and tangling his little hands into the thick strands of his hair. 'He's kissing me!' He had thought, marveling in the way the child-like body slotted so perfectly against him like a puzzle piece finally finding home. 'He's kissing me...' Thorin could feel Bilbo drawing away, apparently taking his inaction for rejection. Swiftly, he wrapped his arms around his Hobbit ('mine. Mine. MINE.') and rolled them over until he was over the Hobbit and Bilbo was securely pinned down under him.  
  
That night, he made some of his dreams a reality. And every night after that, he dreamt of nothing more than a life with the creature he had grown to care for ever so.  
  
(the next morning, he could hear the infernal wizard muttering "finally!" into his pipe and the other dwarves saying something like, "took them long enough...")  
  
Their couplings had not meant that he had forgotten his lust for revenge and the thrill of knowing that his homeland was within grasp. It had just meant that he now had something else to look forward to, a different light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
He had had grand dreams of their days following the recapture of Erebor. He would be crowned, the treasure to be divided as per contract, arrangements made for the long exiled citizens to begin repopulating their home. Thorin had also planned to ask Bilbo for his consent to properly court him, although he wished that they could just hang the courting and jump right into marriage for that was what it had felt like--marriage.  
  
So when the whole mess with the Battle of The Five Armies and the Arkenstone happened... It felt like his world had been tilted on an axis too fast for him to follow. It had felt like he was being shattered into a million pieces being scattered into the five winds and no longer able to be whole again. There was rage, yes. In the beginning, he could not understand why Bilbo did what he had done. But as the fires of anger dampened, Thorin slowly began to see that his Hobbit did what he had felt was for the greater good. For him.  
  
By then it was too late. His heart was long gone, and with it, its' bearer. The words he said...  
  
Perhaps one day he would grow to care for the lady his council will choose for him. But he would never love her, and he could never give to her what was no longer his to give.  
  
These days, Thorin does not dream much at all. And if he does, it is of a small boy with raven hair and the bluest of eyes waiting for him at the door of an all-familiar Hobbit Hole.


	8. Chapter 8

Thorin lied. Of course he did, why wouldn't he? He was no fool and he was never one to disregard paranoia. After all, it was always better to be paranoid than dead.  
  
He had went to bed, feeling wholly unsatisfied by his dinner and frustrated at the lack of trust his dwarves had for him. Why couldn't he be involved in the secret? From what he could glean, it was not something dangerous or harmful, neither is it treasonous or detrimental to the safety of the kingdom. So why should it be kept from him?  
  
And also, that the secret had something to do with someone who apparently loves him.  
  
Well, that was not much to go on...   
  
Thorin gave up on getting any sleep that night after the clamour in his head refused to pause long enough for him to reach the shores of sleep. He got out of bed, slipped on his coat and paced his chambers before steeling his resolve to seek Kili out to break the secret out of him. Yes. Kili would _definitely_ tell him.  
  
He was halfway to Kili's quarters before he heard the voices of Balin and Dwalin around the corner.  
  
"He deserves to know!" Dwalin muttered frustratedly. Thorin slipped into an alcove, pressing his body close to the shadows of the cool stone wall. "He's our _King_!"  
  
"But this is bigger than him." Balin replied evenly, the tendril of threat veiled. "This is bigger than all of us combined..." He sighed. Thorin wondered if he could peek through the jagged edges of the stones, and then subsequently berates himself. He's _the_ King Under the Mountain. He has faced armies of arcs, led his dwarves into glrious battle and reclaimed his homeland. But here he was cowering in the shadows like a mouse!   
  
Frowning, he took a few deep breaths, ready to announce his presence when he heard Balin whispered urgently, "Master Baggins made me promise I would not tell, and it is by no small cunning play of words that I managed to tweak my promise to our old Burglar. Granted, you are not bound by the binds of the same promise, but Dwalin..." Thorin could hear a pleading tone in Balin's voice. "Dwalin, do you not believe that his wishes should be respected just as well? It is not about their lives anymore! You must see that in this situation, I find myself agreeing with why Master Baggins has made me promise him as such. We no longer have two lives--"  
  
"Then what about when Thorin finds out that you have given his mother's necklace away? The Council _will_ find him a bride, and Thorin _will_ ask for it to be given to his betrothed as a sign that she will be the next Queen. What will you do then, brother?"   
  
Thorin's head snapped up at that. 'He gave it away?! What is the meaning of this?' He felt a surge of hurt and anger well up in him. When... Bilbo left. When Bilbo had left him and the mountains and all they ever could have had behind, he also left behind his mother's necklace. Thorin had found it the morning he'd gone, and the finality of their situation had came crashing down around him. Balin had been there. And it was to him that Thorin gave the necklace for safe-keeping.  
  
He decided he has lurked in the shadow for too long. He tilts his body, muscles coiled and tense, ready for a confrontation.  
  
"But I gave it to his son! I gave it to Bilbo's son, so what's the wrong with that? You know as well as I do that that boy could not be half of anyone else but Thorin!"

"Yes! I know! But brother..." Dwalin paused, and he could hear them shuffling down the corridor. "Brother, Thorin is to be married within the year. By Mahal's grace, their union will bear forth strong sons and daughters for the line of Durin. However, should he not have a chance to know his first-born son before he commits himself to his union?"  
  
Thorin felt the focus of the world narrow down to straining to hear more. 'A son! I have a son!' He thought giddily, torn between shock and exhilaration. The idea that there is a child in the Shire that is half of him took his breath away. He looked down at his hands that have taken lives and created many beautiful works from when he was a smith. Hands that are now the hands of a father. Could he possibly be a good one? 'A child with my blood in his veins.'  
  
"And what good would that do? You know Thorin as well as I do, and maybe even more so." Balin huffed, annoyed. "You know he will seek answers, and those answers cannot be found in Erebor. None of us will give it to him! You have not seen them as I have. They... Bilbo has built them a good life. Thorin will go to the Shire if he even has an inkling of this." Balin paused, "He's not happy, but he's not unhappy either. We are keeping this secret for the good of Thorin, for the sake for Bilbo. He has asked this of us, and we must honour it. We will not keep it from him forever. Bilbo has promised me that he would tell the boy before long. So, the real question is, are you with us, brother?"  
  
Dwalin snorted and Thorin could hear him clapping his brother's robe covered shoulder. "I may not totally agree with your methods, but I am with you."  
  
They began to talk of other things, moving towards the stairs, and then slowly their voices echoes out.  
  
Thorin stayed where he was, quite unable to move. It suddenly dawned on him that Balin must've met Bilbo when he was on his way back from Ered Luin. He pushed himself out of the shadows, stumbling to the opposite wall and leaning against it. He felt like he had just gone twelve rounds with Azog himself; the initial adrenaline and euphoria of the knowledge that he was now a father wearing out and thin. Balin probably knows how his son looks like...  
  
Would he be more Hobbit than Dwarf? Did he have Bilbo's curls, or his own raven hair? Is he with Durin's sickness? Thorin shuddered with fear for his unmet son. No. He hoped not. The last thing he would ever want for a child of his was that thriced damned curse of his forebears.  
  
Bilbo was the one who asked for their discretion. Bilbo was the one who... Loved him. After all he had done? Thorin shook his head. Impossible. _He_ couldn't forgive himself, so how could he expect the one he hurt most to forgive him?  
  
No. He shook his head. Thorin straightened himself and turned on his heels, walking briskly back to his chambers before he night patrol could catch him sneaking around his own keep.


	9. Chapter 9

Frodo felt like weeping. It was here again like clockwork.   
  
"Is it here again?" Bilbo asked from inside, footsteps coming closer to the front door. Upon seeing it, he sighed resignedly and clapped his son on the shoulder. "Best bring it inside, then. No use leaving it out there for the Sackville-Bagginses to drool over."  
  
The _It_ in question was a boxful of beautifully designed trinkets, assortments and clothes that were foreign in their design but obviously made for Hobbits. Whoever delivered them always came at night, and by the early hours the next morning, a box would be waiting on the front steps of Bag End. The size of the box usually varied, but it never detracted from the wonderful prizes it held inside.  
  
So far, Frodo had gotten a closet full of new clothes that we not very Hobbit-like, a whole entire bookshelf worth of books in a language he could not read, and brand new toys that filled his room to the brim.  
  
It had all been wonderful and all, but all Frodo wanted was to thank them and make them stop!  
  
For all the loveliness it held and the brand new shiny things that sing to something in him, Frodo did not want it. All it did was make Bilbo sad.  
  
"What's inside our box today?" Bilbo closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Frodo noted the dark rings under his eyes, and the way he seemed pale and wan. The little things.  
  
He dug through its' contents, taking them out and laying them all on the floor. A puzzle with runes on it, a sealed envelope, a book with more of the same runes he cannot read.

Frodo touched each of the items in turn, "A puzzle block, another book written in runes, and... an envelope." The Hobbit boy frowned, picking it up. "The writing doesn't seem to be runic like the others. What do you make of it?" He held it up to his father.  
  
Bilbo came forward, taking the slip of envelope in his hand. His eyes widened a fraction when he recognized the script on the front. '_Melethron_' He traced his finger tip over the black ink, mesmerized by the graceful bows and stems. "Melethron..." He whispered reverently.  
  
"What's that?" Frodo asked as he gathered everything and placed them into the box. "Papa?" He stood up and made to come closer to his father, when the older Hobbit shook his head.  
  
"It's quite alright, my boy. I think that this," He smiled, looking happier and better than he had been for weeks, patting the envelope. "This is for me." Bilbo straightened himself and walked down the direction of his room.  
  
Frodo was curious. But he refrained from asking the questions that were burning bright in his heart. It seemed like it had been such a long time since he saw his father smile, and he'd been worried that he never would again. Ever since those boxes started showing up on their front step, it seemed like everyday in between was a constant drawl of silences, sitting on the bench in the garden smoking up a storm, blank looks that lasted hours...  
  
It'd only gotten much worse the past week; so much so that he'd almost sent for Gandalf! Frodo shuddered, pushing the box and its' contents into a corner of his room.   
  
There was something he was hiding. Frodo was no fool of a Took. Ever since that dwarf Balin came, nothing was the same. They never spoke about his sire, but the issue always lurked in the fringes of all their conversations. And now, the issue was... Frodo frowned. The issue was on the verge of an explosion bright and bold like one of Gandalf's fireworks.  
  
Thinking about it now, could he have been a dwarf? It would explain a lot. Bilbo always forbade him to talk to any that were passing through and to get out of sight of any he saw. Frodo went over to his bureau and looked into the mirror, turning his head this way and that. He was taller than most Hobbits, lean and paler. Most of the children called him a freak and other words that were most unsavory; something he never wanted to relay back to his Papa. Frodo had always felt... Different. Sam had always told him otherwise, but that's how he felt. That he never belonged in the Shire.  
  
Lifting a hand, he touched his reflection on the cool glass and wondered if he looked anything like his father.


	10. Side Story 3

It must've been the soup he had last night. Bilbo moaned weakly, spitting the foul taste of vomit into the running stream. But then again, he might just be coming down with something. Bilbo huffs, pushing himself up. Just his luck.  
  
"How are you faring Bilbo?" Gandalf asked, his hand a warm weight at his elbow. Silently, the Hobbit was glad for it. Leaning slightly against the wizard, he sighs.  
  
"Not good, as you can imagine. I reckon I'm coming down with something." He paused worriedly. "Do you have anything--"  
  
"Would you like me to call for Oin?"  
  
"No." Bilbo blushed, "Could you do it?"  
  
The wizard lifted his hand up, smiling. "Say no more, old friend. I would be honored." He gestured for him to lie back against the log. "I am not a proper healer like Oin, but I will do my best." He folded his sleeves, leaning over Bilbo. Gandalf took his pulse, gently prodding his abdomen and tested his breathing. When he pressed lower, Bilbo gasped though not in pain. He tells Gandalf so, and watches a shadow pass over his face. The old man frowned,and began muttering in foreign tongues that Bilbo was more than sure were words long dead and forgotten to all but those who had lived in the days that they were spoken.  
  
"What's wrong?" He asked worriedly, gripping Gandalf's wrist. "Gandalf? Please tell me?"  
  
The wizard leaned back, eyes troubled. "Congratulations, my dear Bilbo. You're pregnant."

For his part, the Hobbit's heart merely skipped a beat. "Pregnant?" His hand cupped at the gentle swell of his belly. He knew there had to be a reason he was finding it more and more difficult to button his shirts, a reason why he was gaining weight even though he was not eating much. "Are you sure?" He looked up, lips set in a thin grim line.

Gandalf sighed, taking out his pipe before frowning at it and stuffing it back into the folds of his robe. "Of course I am sure!" He replied before he softened his tone. "Oh my dear Hobbit... What ever will we do with you?"

"Nothing, I sure." Bilbo giggled almost hysterically. A babe in him. A babe growing in him... A child of his own. He swallowed. Bilbo had never been one of the marrying kind. Hobbits his age normally had their own brood with another one on the way, and were merrily round with rosy cheeks and happy bellies straining their waistcoats. Bellies that were not the cause of pregnancy.

He knew. Of course he knew, how could he not? Of the darker times in Hobbit history that the old ones remember but the young ones forget. The times where both Hobbit lasses and laddies could bear children. Of course Bilbo Baggins with all his books and his scrolls and all his thirst knowledge would be one of the few who knew of those days. He even knew that one of his distant ancestors was one of the last children to be born that way... But they should have died out by now! That trait should not even be... How could--

"Bilbo!"

He releases the tight hold he has on his belly, starting and catching Gandalf's sad and worried look. "Sorry..." He apologized, though he knew not what it was for.

"Do not be sorry, my boy." The wizard sighed sadly. He pulls him close, "Never be sorry."

Bilbo is not aware of the tears that fell until he feels gentle calloused hand wipe at his cheeks. "He doesn't know, does he?"

"No."

Gandalf held him, and the two stayed that way in their embrace. "I won't tell him. But you must take great care, Bilbo. There are more dangers in this situation than you may think. Promise me, Bilbo." Gandalf pushed himself away, staring into the Hobbit's eyes.

"I will, Gandalf." The Halfling whispered, feeling numbness creep into the darkest crevice of his soul.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jump from Chapter 8

Frodo was late.  
  
Frodo was painfully, inexplicably, horribly, terribly, undoubtedly, irrefutably _late_.  
  
'Papa is going to have a fit!' He thought worriedly, jumping over a small brook and continuing his run towards home. Frodo could almost picture the hands on his hips and the patented displeasure etched into the lines of his Papa's face. Merry and Pippin had thought it a good idea to venture out into Farmer Cor's fields near Brandywine Bridge as a joke and as such, they (along with loyal Sam) had spent the better part of the afternoon outrunning his hounds.  
  
The little Hobbit swore that that would be the very last time he listened to one of his cousins' brilliant ideas. Briefly, he checked the spoils of his afternoon escapade, feeling slightly smug at the feel of the weight in his pack. Bilbo won't be none too please, but Frodo was never really fooled by his admonishments.  
  
For some reason, Frodo would say that his father was _proud_ of him when he did such reckless and Tookish things. And for those same reasons, he never knew why.  
  
Not for the first time in the hour, Frodo was glad that he was not too far from home. It was twilight and the sky was a deep purple blue. It was not yet dark enough that one would be blind to the path ahead, and for that, Frodo was eternally grateful to whatever deities that listened to mischievous youths. With the main roads in sight, Frodo grinned, imagining the smells of Bag End wafting out the open front door to meet him.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
A deep voice halted his steps, and he turned round quickly on his feet. The speaker, a rather tall dwarf by the looks of him, stood in the middle of the road with one hand gripping the leather reins of a horse. Frodo braced his hands on the straps of his makeshift pack, swallowing slightly. The dwarf looked nothing like the kindly elderly one that came months ago. This one looked... Stern. Foreboding. And if Frodo squinted, a little sad. There was something about him though. Through the silver in his hair and the rather haughty way he held himself, that seemed rather familiar to him.

"Can I help you sir?" He answered, watching the way the dwarf's eyes lingered on his face, a curious mix of emotions that Frodo filed away for later. "Are you lost?"  
  
The dwarf's eyes dipped low, going towards his throat and widening as if in recognition. Frodo resisted the impulse to put his hand on his throat. He knew what was there; the necklace that Master Balin left for him.  
  
"Where-" The dwarf spoke, voice sounding choked. "Where did you get that?"  
  
"What's it to you?" Frodo replied warily. Briefly, he courted the idea that perhaps he could outrun the dwarf. (did dwarves have murderers that killed for the pleasure of killing? axe wielding creatures that they were?) But... Bilbo had not told him anything of his sire and frankly Frodo was getting a little desperate. He took a short step backwards, keeping his eyes on the dwarf at all times. He is about to turn and run like his life (probably did) depended on it, when the dwarf spoke again and this time in soft hushed tones, as if he were afraid of breaking something.  
  
"Is... Is your father Bilbo Baggins?"  
  
Frodo made a move to run, cursing his lack of sense and ability to heed his Papa's warnings about always staying out of the sight of dwarves. "Wait! Wait!" A strong grip held his fast by his arm. "I swear to you, I mean you no harm." The grip loosened, but the dwarf's hulking presence loomed over him. Frodo felt himself be turned around and met stormy blue eyes with his own. "All I want to know is if you are Bilbo Baggins' child."  
  
"Are you an axe-wielding murderer?" The words came out before he could stop them. The dwarf looked amused, and then bewildered.  
  
"No?"  
  
Frodo squinted. Hard. Oh, how he wished Sam didn't have to visit his aunt and could've walked with him home! "And if I told you that I was?" He said, speaking slowly. The dwarf looked manic in the low light. Frodo half-expected him to draw his sword or dagger and fillet him like a fish, but instead he felt the looming presence recede.  
  
The dwarf went back to his horse, taking the reins in his hand once more. His eyes was shuttered and Frodo wondered if there was something wrong with _him_ for telling a perfect stranger something that Hobbits usually do not divulge until further down their acquainting.  
  
"Why do you ask?" Frodo ventured, his heart beating hard against his chest. "Do you know him?"  
  
The dwarf's hands stilled, his body tensed. Without turning to look at Frodo, the dwarf said quietly, "Let's just say that I owe him an apology."


	12. Chapter 12

Frodo barely resisted the urge to look back at the dwarf.   
  
They were approaching the bend, and Frodo could already make out the round door of home and the perfume of the garden. It was full and properly dark now. Idly, Frodo wondered what was for dinner.  
  
He had tried making small talk with the dwarf; asking his name,where he was from, what business did he have with his Papa. Let it never be said that Frodo Baggins had no manners! He tried everything he had been taught about politeness and manners, but all he got for his queries was a deep hum or another inquisitive stare. It was most unsatisfying.  
  
The dwarf stayed a good few paces behind him at all times. It was neither too far, nor was it too near to make him feel as if his presence was overbearing and suffocating. Strangely enough, Frodo found it easy to be walking with the dwarf. Comforting almost.  
  
The young Hobbit stopped in his tracks, taking in the sight of his company. He was dressed in fine leather and Frodo could see a thick fur coat draped over the back of the mare. The weather was only picking up on the chill of the season and as such there could've never been any use for it unless the dwarf had come from a further place than the settlements in the East. He seemed rather clean for a dwarf on his travels, and his mare was the kind that even Frodo himself could tell was of a fine and noble breed.  
  
"Are you here about the gifts?" He asked, catching the glint in the dwarf's eyes. They had halted right outside Old Glindale's hobbit hole, and were bathed in the gold light coming through the open windows.  
  
"The gifts?" The dwarf echoed, nudging his mare forward past the Hobbit. There was something... forced about the way he was holding himself. Frodo narrowed his eyes.  
  
Falling into step with the dwarf he pressed on. "The gifts. The ones that have been sent to my home? They're all dwarven made. My Papa said as much, and he doesn't speak about dwarfs that much." Frodo paused, glancing at the dwarf. His stormy blue eyes did not waver from the path ahead, and suddenly Frodo _sees_. The lightening lick of the knowledge coursed through his bones, igniting his synapses. He blinked away the sudden tears, struggling to remember how to breathe. Carefully, he chose his next words, speaking them softly. "I've kept them. Everything you sent us. Of all those that came, he only kept one thing."  
  
The dwarf was silent. They climbed the path, until they came upon the wooden gate of Bag End. Frodo pushed at it, swinging himself in and was halfway up the steps before he turned back to the dwarf and looked him in the eye, saying, "He only kept the letter."

"You're..." The dwarf started, voice catching in his throat. Frodo waited, hands clenched at his sides. "You're bigger. Older. Than when I'd expected you to be." He finished. There was an unnamed emotion in his eyes, that Frodo was sure were mirrored in his.  
  
The world around them stilled, falling silent as if holding its' breath in expectation of what is to unfold. Softly, "And... You're not much different than what I'd dreamt you'd be."  
  
The dwarf chuckled suddenly, tying the reins to the post. Straightening himself, he stepped closer to Frodo. "Are you disappointed?" He began cautiously, watching the hobbit carefully.  
  
Frodo ducked his head, blinking away the tears that were prickling at the edges of his eyes. Shaking his head, he looked up, voice breaking, "No."  
  
They stood there; the Hobbit on the stairs, the dwarf at the gate. Both parties looking for cues from the other as to what to do next. "Do you blame me? For not...?"  
  
"No. And I don't think I blame Papa too. He must've had his reasons." Frodo acknowledged.  
  
The dwarf looked away, an almost broken expression taking over his regal features. "Reasons that I... I had many a part in." He whispered bitterly.  
  
The sternness of the dwarf's face fell away in that instant, and Frodo closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around him. Strong arms enveloped him in an embrace, the deep timbre of the dwarf's voice shaking as he murmured his apologies into raven locks.  
  
"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry... To you and Bilbo... Forgive me, my son--"  
  
"Thorin?"  
  
The voice coming from the open front door made them jump apart. Bilbo Baggins stood haloed by the light of Bag End, face pale and eyes wide with fear.


	13. Chapter 13

They stood there, under the light of the moon and the warm glow of Bag End. Frodo remained in his father's arms, little hands fisted in his travelling coat, eyes defiant and as if daring Bilbo to separate them.  
  
Moments passed and the silence was only broken with Bilbo sighing, turning inside and telling them that dinner was getting cold.  
  
Frodo chanced to look at Thorin and watched when a tidal wave of relief came across his features. Not thinking twice, he took Thorin's larger, well calloused hand in his and dragged him up the steps and into the hobbit hole. The dwarf resisted a little, as if unsure of his welcome. But one (stubborn) look from his son was all it took to quell the nervous clamor in his head.  
  
Bilbo was setting out another place on the dining table in the parlour, the warm crackle of the fire comforting. Frodo sat his father down on the chair right of the head of the table, he himself taking the seat opposite him. Bilbo seemed to pause in his step as he took his stew to the table, but he quickly regained his stride, setting the pot down in the center of the table alongside all the other things he had cooked. Carefully, he sat down in his chair, wordlessly pouring out some wine for Thorin next to him. The corner of Frodo lips turned upwards a little in a smile, and he stealthily hid it in his cup.  
  
With only the sounds of food being consumed and the occasional request to pass a dish or a condiment, dinner passed without an incident. Granted, Bilbo barely spoke to Thorin though it all, but Frodo would count that as a rather resounding success.   
  
"I'll clear up." He volunteered immediately after they'd finished up their desserts. Gathering their plates and cups, he balanced the load in his arms, shuffling into the kitchen.  
  
"Here."   
  
Thorin came up next to him at the sink, gently depositing his load. Frodo frowned but said nothing. In the corner of his eye, he could see his Papa lingering at the doorway, watching them closely. Perhaps he had been wrong in assuming that Bilbo would be accepting with Thorin's presence?

"I can finish up here." He assured him, smiling brightly up at his father. The thought brought a shiver up his spine. Father! He has a father! Frodo felt a spring of happiness bubbling up in him. And a dwarf at that. He always knew he was strange and that he was rather un-Hobbit like, but a dwarf for a father...  
  
And one that looks to be some sort of warrior.  
  
Frodo's mind immediately turned towards Sting. The sword had always been precious to Bilbo, and he made sure that his son was always careful with it. Could that have had been a gift from his father? He chanced a look at the way his parents hovered awkwardly at opposite ends of the room. But it can't be... Sting was an Elven blade. Papa had told him so.  
  
"Frodo, I need to have a talk with our guest." Bilbo said, fixing his eyes on Thorin. They were unreadable, and for a moment the boy feared that he would be punished. Bracing himself, he kept his eyes on the plate he was rinsing. "When you're done here, go turn down the guest room as best you can." 'That was a surprise.'   
  
A press of a kiss against his forehead startled him. "Don't worry. You're not in trouble." Frodo saw the slight twinkle of a smile in his father's eyes. "But we will need to have words about this." He paused, turning slightly to the dwarf standing next to him. "When we're done."  
  
Frodo watched him stuff his hands into his pockets and made his way out of the kitchen. He catches his father's eye, and tilts his head, telling him to follow.  
  
Bilbo had seemed almost resigned. His shoulder was a tense line and Frodo would give anything to know what they would say to each other. But the hobbit reckons that they would tell him when the time was right.  
  
He just hoped that they did not see it fit to utilize the wooden bear sculptures on the mantelpiece.


	14. Chapter 14

"If I had any love for you, it is now gone."  
  
The words uttered tonelessly, without any emotion or inflection just as the door snicked close. Thorin halted in his steps into the room, watching the thinly veiled anger dawn on Bilbo's face. In all of his memories (and darkest nights) he has rarely recalled Bilbo Baggins' anger. Especially if it were directed at him.  
  
"May we never meet again." The Hobbit whispered unsmilingly, still not looking at him. Thorin fought back the wince at the recognition of his own words being thrown back at him. Bilbo kept his eyes focused at the world outside his window, watching the dark horizon as if it will yield the answers he seeks. "And yet here you are."  
  
Thorin shrugged off his coat, laying it on the back of a chair. "I'm sorry--"  
  
"It's not good enough!" Bilbo hissed, turning around. Thorin can see the shadows of hurt, anger, sadness, confusion, and _fear_... The dwarf king closed the gaps between them, drawing the Hobbit (_his_, although he had no right to that claim than he has to his own son) into an embrace, letting the tiny fists pummel against his chest. They do not hurt, but he does not avoid them. "You come back here...! Like... Like some kind of _monster_ from my dreams. As if I would let you fall back into my life! Our lives...!"  
  
Thorin pulled away at that, cupping Bilbo's tear stained cheeks, forcing the slighter being to look at him. "Listen to me, and listen to me closely. I'm not here to worm my way into anything, and I am most certainly not..." He paused, looking away, breathing harshly. Softening his voice, he leans their foreheads close. "I'm not... I'm not here to _fight_ you, Bilbo Baggins. Nor do I expect everything to be alright. You have every right to hate me, and I know that."   
  
Sucking in a deep shuddering breath, "But nothing you could say, and nothing you could ever do, could ever make _me_ blame myself any less for all that has transpired between us. And I can only wish that my apologies could make it all better, but I know it won't!"

"I wanted to go after you. The moment I could sit up without pain, when the gold fever faded from me, when sense finally returned to me." Thorin released him, walking to stand by the fire. He could feel Bilbo's eyes on him. "But then I remembered the things I'd said. I had... I had hurt you. When I have promised never to do so. When I..." He sighed. "I promised you a great many things, I'm afraid."  
  
The dwarf king blinked, eyes never leaving the flicker of the flames. He lets its' heat warm the sudden chill in his bones. "I have traveled far, Bilbo and all I ask of you is for three days. Three days in your house and home to know my son." Blue eyes searched out the form of the Hobbit behind him.  
  
Bilbo sank down into his chair, all the fight flowing out of him, cupping his head in his hands. "Three days you say?" He asks quietly, "And then you'll leave."  
  
"And then I leave."  
  
"You haven't even asked me if he were yours." Bilbo meets him eyes straight on. "Did you not wonder if you have been lied to?"  
  
Thorin merely knelt down in front of him. "I know you, Bilbo Baggins. You are many things, but cruel you are not." He brushed his thumb over the back of Bilbo's hand. "You have every right to be, but your heart is too kind." He hesitates for a moment before leaning and pressing their heads close. "Please consent to this. Let me know him. I do not seek to take him from you. I just... Want to know him. Please Bilbo..."  
  
The gentle sigh as Bilbo tangles his hands into his silver streaked beard, the soft yes that escapes him brings Thorin a deep set relief that leaves him weak kneed.


	15. Chapter 15

The first day greets him with rain. A torrential downpour of epic proportions that drowns out any other sound than its' own, and sends Thorin back into a deeper sleep than the one before.   
  
He briefly courts the idea of sending for Gandalf to investigate Hobbits and the strange magic of their land.  
  
The tinge of disappointment was hard to tamp down when he finally walked into the kitchen and Bilbo was not there.  
  
"Hullo!" Frodo greeted him over the pounding of the rain. "Would you like some bacon with your toast? I'm afraid we're running low on rations, so this is all I can offer for now."   
  
"Where's Bilbo?" Thorin asked, taking a seat at the table.  
  
"He went out to the market. But the rain started not long after, so I think he's probably taken shelter somewhere." Frodo explained, tilting his pan to slide some bacon into the awaiting plate. "I'm sorry it's not much."  
  
"No, no. It's fine." Thorin hastened to reassure. "It's... Perfect, actually." He smiled, piercing one and biting into it happily. The tendrils of disappointment dispersed slightly, and he found his mood lightened at the smile on his son's face.  
  
"Then I'm glad." Frodo replied shyly, taking a seat opposite him and starting in on his own breakfast. Father and son did not speak for a long while, choosing instead to steal quick glances at each other.  
  
_A son_. By Durin's beard... Thorin had given up all thought of being a father _ages_ ago when the fires of revenge burnt bright and hot, and all he knew was the longing for his home. He had Fili and Kili, of course. They were as good as sons as any, so the idea of having a child of his own; a child that was half of him, was something that never really became a priority.   
  
And then this.  
  
In the journey from Erebor, he had had plenty of time to _consider_ things, so to speak. Thorin knew that logically, his people could possibly go both ways when it came to the issue of putting a son he never even knew he had on the throne. Fili and Kili had given their own blessings to whatever he may decide, but Thorin knew his kind. Traditionalists. He had intended to not leave the Shire alone, but it was all up to these three days. Three days to show Bilbo that he had never stopped loving him. That he wants his family to be together.  
  
But old hurts run deep, and Thorin was the best expert on matters as such.

Dwalin and Bifur were waiting for him in Bree. He'd insisted on meeting Bilbo on his own without any guards and retinue. Some things were private, even from the oldest of friends.  
  
Frodo had more Dwarf-like characteristics than he would have imagined. He looked tall for a Hobbit, slender and rather pale. And his feet were considerably less hairy than what he'd seen of the Hobbit kind. But his eyes though... Whenever Thorin looks at his eyes, he feels a little like looking into a mirror. So far, he looked to be a proper, well-mannered lad. Soft-spoken and perhaps a little shy, but whenever the lad smiled, Thorin wished he could bottle up each and every moment to hoard with his most precious of treasures.  
  
Thorin wondered of how Frodo would've been as a babe. Would he have been difficult? Or would Bilbo have had been blessed with a happy infant? Had he been sickly as a child, like his pallor suggests? These thoughts buzzed busily in his head, clamoring for an ounce of attention.  
  
The motion of Frodo getting up and piling their dishes together brought him back to his rain logged reality. "What are your plans today?" He asked, watching the boy blink and flush. Honestly, he had half expected the boy to query him about their conversation the night before.  
  
"Um. Nothing much?" Frodo looked around, "Read a book, I suppose?"  
  
"Is my horse still tied to the post?" At Frodo's shake of head, he frowned. "Did someone steal it?"  
  
"No, sir!" He exclaimed, "Papa brought her with him to the market. To help with the load."  
  
At that, he went over to the sink. Thorin sighed, staring out the window towards the rain soaked landscape. "Do you think that this rain will stop any time soon?"  
  
"Not likely." Came the answer. Thorin moved over to a chair by the fireplace, turning from the window to the fire in the grate. He could hear his bones and joints creak and pop as he sat down. Soon, the heavy cloud of memories settled around him like a comforting blanket.  
  
"I hadn't known, you know? About you. For many years after... What had happened. I thought of him constantly. Bilbo, your father. I never stopped loving him. Not really." He said, softly. Frodo was silent as he came to sit by him. "Not even when I was so _angry_. Not even when I thought I hated him. I know now that I was wrong. That I gave up the greatest treasure I could ever hope to own." He paused. "I have no claim to you, Frodo. I have no claim as your sire. It is terribly selfish of me to come in here and invade in your lives like this."  
  
Frodo gently took his hand in his, pressing their palms together. "Can I come with you? When you leave?" Thorin felt the air in his lungs empty out. _Yes_, he wanted to answer, _By Durin, yes_  
  
Instead, what comes out is, "Don't you think it'll make your Papa sad if you did?" His son has no answer.  
  
When Bilbo comes home much later as it is dawning dusk, he finds Frodo curled up at his father's leg, listening to his rich, deep voice telling him stories of lands and places far, far away.


	16. Chapter 16

Cloudy skies greeted him the next day. He stayed in bed, silent and still, straining to catch any movement or sound outside his door. It was overcast outside, but Thorin doubts that it will rain at all.  
  
When a few minutes have passed and no sound could be gleaned, he slipped out of bed, and into his shoes.  
  
Bag End was silent, and eerily so. Its' hallways stretched out forever, the hardwood floors gleam with the patina of age and time. Thorin could faintly hear the sound of the fire going in the kitchen, but there was no sign of the Hobbits who inhabit here.  
  
The plume of smoke was his first indicator, as was the familiar head of hair that bobbed outside in the garden. "Frodo has gone out for the day." Bilbo said, not bothering to turn around when he steps outside. He was sitting on his bench, watching the Shire go about their day. Thorin wonders if he does that a lot; just sit there on his bench and let the world go by.  
  
"May I?" He asked, gesturing to the space next to him. Bilbo merely shrugged, moving over to give him space. "Have you had breakfast?"   
  
Bilbo snorted, "And elevenses. You missed out on some excellent pancakes that Hamfast brought over."  
  
"Hamfast?" Thorin echoed, "Is this... Hamfast as friend of yours?" He tried to discreetly hide his clenched fist by his side, willing away the pain and jealousy warring in his chest.   
  
Bilbo paused before answering, "Yes, he is. So are his children and his wife, and half of his family."   
  
"Oh." Thorin valiantly battled the urge to smile. And failed. "Have you... Uh. Has anyone..."  
  
"Have I ever considered marriage to another Hobbit?" Bilbo answered, eyes still trained on the horizon. "To answer your question, yes. Yes I have. It would be easier for Frodo and I to have a husband and a father, but every time I thought of it, it felt wrong somehow. Like I was betraying you." He finished in almost a whisper. Thorin felt his heart thunder in his chest.  
  
"The council wishes for me to be married. They have been introducing... Dwarrow women. They were all fine ladies, worthy warriors and smiths. But they weren't you." He looked over at the Hobbit beside him, tracing the silvers and golds in his hair. Idly, he wishes he had his mother's jewel box to braid gems and precious beads into Bilbo's hair. "I never forgot you."  
  
"Nor have I."

The reply was enough to shock him into silence. There is a sweet blush on Bilbo's cheeks, and in the light of day when he finally has a good look at him, Thorin notes that he is far thinner than he should have been. There is also a rather pale, wan quality to his pallor that the blush does not particularly hide. He opened his mouth, the words sitting on the tip of his tongue when Bilbo continues.  
  
"But it doesn't change the fact that tomorrow will be your last day here." He looked up, fixing the dwarf with a resolute glare. "Three days. That was our agreement."  
  
"Yes. Yes it was." Thorin concedes, looking away to hide his eyes.   
  
They watch the world together for a moment before Thorin asks, "Tell me about Frodo. Tell me about his childhood, his infancy. I... Want to know."  
  
"Did he not tell you anything? You had an entire day to spend with him."  
  
"He told me enough." Thorin smiled, clasping his hands together on his chest. "But they were stories told from a child's perspective. I would like to hear yours." He added, "Please?"  
  
Bilbo regarded him for a moment, "What will you do with these stories?"  
  
"I will keep them. Safe in here." He pointed to his heart, gaze never faltering from Bilbo's. "I will carry them with me."  
  
"Fair enough." Bilbo smirked, and began to talk.


	17. Chapter 17

Thorin blinked himself awake to the bright molten gold of the sun spilling in through the window and the sound of a sweet voice singing. Smiling quietly to himself, he sat up, ignoring the way his joints protested slightly at the sudden movement.  
  
"Good morning." He greeted as he walked into the kitchen. Frodo beamed in reply, setting out a place at the table for him. There was a tilt to Bilbo's lips, but the Hobbit quickly hid it behind his cup of tea.  
  
Frodo rattled off about the wonderful weather that they were having, and the _things_ they could do in the garden while the sunshine held, and it all logical sense it should rankle Thorin as to how un-dwarrow his son was, how Frodo should be talking of swords and axes instead of tomatoes and potatoes. All Thorin could think of in that moment, however, was how thankful he was that his son, his _heir_had been spared the same sickness that had plagued his grandfather, his father, and even himself. Watching Frodo putter around his father's kitchen, watching him prepare breakfast and talk of mundane everyday things that should matter to no dwarf, gave Thorin the desire to sink to his knees and offer up his thanks to Mahal.  
  
"He's a very Hobbit-like child. Does that bother you?" Bilbo's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. His cup of tea was halfway to his lips.  
  
"That he's nothing like a dwarf?"  
  
"That he was brought up a Hobbit. Does. It Bother. You." There was hard edge to Bilbo's voice. One, Thorin was sure, was only brought upon and tempered by time and butter experience. Something painful and dark curled heavy and deep in his gut at the thought that _he_might have had a part in it.  
  
Thorin set his cup down, mulling over his next words carefully. Frodo stood oblivious over the sink, singing gaily and untroubled.  
  
"I... I wish Frodo could've been brought up a proper prince; endowed with the finest cloths, draped with precious jewels, honored and respected by all around him. I wish Frodo could see, touch, _feel_ what it is to be an heir to the House of Durin." He reached over and took one of Bilbo's smaller hands into his, holding on tightly when he felt him try to pull away. "I wish for many things, my dear heart, but above all else, the one thing that Mahal had saw fit to grant me with was that my heir would be free from the curse that has plagued my family." Thorin looked over at Frodo's back, smiling sadly. "If the price was time, heartache and pain, then I have paid it. And will gladly do so again."  
  
"You asked me if it bothered me that Frodo was more Hobbit than Dwarf. The answer is no." Thorin stroked a line over the jut of Bilbo's knuckles. "My only regret was that he and you had to suffer so."  
  
As if the fight had gone out of him, Bilbo deflated visibly. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be. I deserved your doubts."  
  
"But you did not deserve my fears."

The sharp rap of Frodo's wooden spoon on the table top is enough to make them jump apart, heads snapping up guiltily. Their son stood watching his parents, blue eyes narrowed.  
  
"If you two are done mopping around, you can help me carry the plates to the garden." He said, nodding at the direction of their breakfast spread on trays.  
  
"I think he gets that part from your side of the family." Bilbo whispered, eyes alight with mirth as he stands to do as he is told. Thorin smiled, following the Hobbit.  
  
"How do you know it's not _your_ side of the family?" Thorin holds the door open with his body, letting Bilbo pass.  
  
Bilbo paused for a moment, before turning around and said solemnly, "Because whenever he gets that way, I can only ever think of you." The tilt of his lips was swift and gone before Thorin could commit it to memory. But it was there, and the Dwarrow King saw it.  
  
After breakfast, the two Hobbits (and their dwarf)spent the afternoon tilling the earth. If Thorin noticed the unusual abundance in restorative, healing plants instead of the more common vegetables and flowers, he said nothing of it.  
  
When the day was done, and the sun dipped slightly in the horizon, Bilbo slipped his arm around Thorin's; smiling when the King looked at him in surprise and hope. "Walk with me." Bilbo said, pressing his body close.  
  
"Of course."  
  
They made their way to the tavern run by the Cottons. Frodo saw Sam's figure in the distance and scurried off to greet his friend. Thorin frowned and made a move to call him back, but the soft pat at his side stopped him. Bilbo shook his head, watching their son. "Let him go. Sam's a good lad. He'll know to get him home in time." He sighed, "You and I still have many things to talk about."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Mainly about the fact that you... You need to marry." Bilbo looked away, finding the skyline of a sudden importance. Thorin fought down the urge to smile.  
  
Thorin rested a hand on the back of his Hobbit's back. "It has been a point of contest, yes. Many a debate has been made about it, but I have Fili as my heir. My line of succession is secured, unless..." He paused, "Unless you wish for Frodo to be next in line?"  
  
"No." Bilbo said without a moment's pause. "Frodo is a gentle child. He will be ill-suited for a crown."  
  
Smiling in earnest now, Thorin halted their steps, lifting Bilbo's hand to his lips.  
  
"Kiss me. Properly." Bilbo laughed, a bright happy sound, eyes twinkling in the light of the twilight.  
  
Gently, Thorin cupped his face, and Bilbo can feel the slight tremors of his palm. A strange curl of pride coiled in his chest; proud and _happy_ that he is the cause of the blush that darkens Thorin's cheeks, of the wide-eyed look in his eyes. "May I?" The dwarf asked.  
  
"You needn't ask."

Bilbo woke to the soft sounds of fabric rustling against skin. Opening his eyes slightly, he peered out the window, noting the lack of light in the world outside. Reaching over, he felt around for Thorin, frowning when all that he could find was fading warmth.  
"Thorin?" He called out softly.  
  
Last night, after they'd returned from their dinner, Thorin had made to retire to his own room. A hand on Thorin's wrist stopped the dwarrow in his steps. A touch that Bilbo himself was not quite sure of the intention, only that he did not want to part from the dwarf.  
  
"Come to bed. With me." Bilbo blushed, looking to his feet. "Stay with me."  
  
Thorin was silent. And then, "Are you sure?" All Bilbo could give in response was a quick nod.  
  
It had been chaste. They'd stripped down to their pants, lying on their sides and facing each other in the wash of silvery moonlight. Bilbo had not been quite sure who'd initiated the first touch, but he'd rediscovered the plains of Thorin's skin, reconciling what he'd remembered from before and what was before him. Thorin laid still, as if afraid that at the slightest twitch, the _thing_ blossoming between them would all but disappear like a whisp of a dream.  
  
Some time as the moon rose to its' zenith, they fell asleep, tangled around each other. For the first time in a long time, Bilbo felt safe once more.  
  
"Thorin?" He called softly.  
  
A heavy warm hand soothed his brow, "Hush now. Sleep."  
  
"Mmhmm..." Bilbo murmured, curling around his pillow.  
  
When he woke once more, sunlight painted the walls of his room a bright molten gold. It is after a moment of quiet that he registers the strangeness in the air. He is alone.  
  
Turning over, he is greeted with the sight of a familiar wooden box. Sitting up, Bilbo took it in his hands, sighing at the catch of light on the sapphire stones of the brooch that rested in its' bed of velvet. The snap of the lid as he closed the box was like one of Gandalf's firecrackers in the heavy silence. Quickly, he grabbed his robe and hurried to Thorin's room.  
  
Empty.  
  
"Honestly..." Bilbo huffed, blinking away the tears the burned in the corner of his eyes. 'Of all the times he has to keep to his word.'  
  
The bed had been made with care and precision, everything neatly in their places as if no one had been occupying that space for the past three days. Bilbo closed the door behind him and went to the foyer, standing under his chandelier and quite unable to take his eyes away from his front door. Distantly, he could hear Frodo stirring in his room, could hear the sounds of life coming from beyond the closed door of his home. The weight of the box in his hand was like an anchor in his decision.  
  
Frodo frowned adorably as Bilbo shook him awake, "C'mon Frodo! Wake up!"  
  
"Wha-?" His son mumbled, speech still slurred and sleep addled. "Papa?" He squinted.  
  
Bilbo laughed, startling his son when he jumped on his bed, tugging the covers off him. "Get up, Frodo!" Whirling off, he went to Frodo's wardrobe, gathering a few shirts and a couple of trousers. At this point, Frodo got up hastily, squirming into his pants.  
  
"Papa? Are you well?" He asked cautiously.  
  
Bilbo stopped in his hurricane of movement. Turning around, he beamed, kissing his son on his cheeks. "I have not felt this well in _years_." He assured Frodo, dumping his load onto Frodo's arms. "But you must pack! And so must I!"  
  
"But whatever for?" Frodo called after him.  
  
"For an adventure, my boy! For an adventure!"

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (j_gabrielle), Dreamwidth (j_gabrielle) and Tumblr (randomingoftherandomness, hardheartshere).
> 
> For those who say that I never said anything, it is clearly stated on my AO3 profile bio.
> 
> I do not have a Twitter account.
> 
> I do not have a Wattpad account.
> 
> **Please Do Not Repost My Fics**


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